from neighboring streets made a kind of twilight even in the darkened
court, and Armitage threaded his way among a network of clothes-lines to
the rear wall and viewed the premises. He knew his Geneva from many
previous visits; the quarter was undeniably respectable; and there is, to
be sure, no reason why the blinds of a house should not be carefully
drawn at nightfall at the pleasure of the occupants. The whole lower
floor seemed utterly deserted; only at one point on the third floor was
there any sign of light, and this the merest hint.

The increasing fall of rain did not encourage loitering in the wet
courtyard, where the downspout now rattled dolorously, and Armitage
crossed the court and further assured himself that the lower floor was
dark and silent. Balconies were bracketed against the wall at the second
and third stories, and the slight iron ladder leading thither terminated
a foot above his head. John Armitage was fully aware that his position,
if discovered, was, to say the least, untenable; but he was secure from
observation by police, and he assumed that the occupants of the house
were probably too deeply engrossed with their affairs to waste much time
on what might happen without. Armitage sprang up and caught the lowest
round of the ladder, and in a moment his tall figure was a dark blur
against the wall as he crept warily upward. The rear rooms of the second
story were as dark and quiet as those below. Armitage continued to the
third story, where a door, as well as several windows, gave upon the
balcony; and he found that it was from a broken corner of the door shade
that a sharp blade of light cut the dark. All continued quiet below; he
heard the traffic of the neighboring thoroughfares quite distinctly; and
from a kitchen near by came the rough clatter of dishwashing to the
accompaniment of a quarrel in German between the maids. For the moment
he felt secure, and bent down close to the door and listened.